


Be Not Afraid

by orphan_account



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-22
Updated: 2010-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know what's always great?  When House and Cuddy watch videos together.  And when House has the cinematic event of the century in his possession, who better to share it with (and thus embarrass Wilson even further)?  Things uh, get a little out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Not Afraid

  
**Title:** Be Not Afraid  
**Author: **Lola [](http://lauriestein.livejournal.com/profile)[**lauriestein**](http://lauriestein.livejournal.com/)  
**Pairing**: House/Cuddy (Cuddy/Lucas)  
**Rating:** NC17  
**Spoilers:** Everything that's aired so far in s6  
**Disclaimer**: Not mine at all, they're the property of David Shore et al. Just borrowing, no profit being made or harm intended.

**Summary:** You know what's always great? When House and Cuddy watch videos together. And when House has the cinematic event of the century in his possession, who better to share it with (and thus embarrass Wilson even further)? Things uh, get a little out of hand.

Written as an Easter gift for my favourite comm, as well as fulfilling prompt #09 - a porch for [](http://community.livejournal.com/story_lottery/profile)[**story_lottery**](http://community.livejournal.com/story_lottery/)

Also, a million thanks to[](http://flippet.livejournal.com/profile)[**flippet**](http://flippet.livejournal.com/)  and [](http://ladyvivien.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladyvivien**](http://ladyvivien.livejournal.com/)  for their critical eyes when most needed!

The shadow in the corner of the porch was never going to be anyone else.

  
Cuddy hangs her head in momentary defeat, knowing that Lucas will be out of town until the weekend and the nanny will be waiting to flee from a sleeping Rachel as soon as the key turns in the lock. Life used to be simpler, but House showing up when she least wants to see him is consistent at least.

  
She can deny it until she turns blue in the face, but the old currents of tension are firing between them once more. House has forsaken the sulking shadows of her rejection and is opting to resume his favored habit of invading her personal space at every possible opportunity.

  
Which wouldn't be any kind of a problem if Cuddy could prevent the little surges of excitement that course through her when he does. Every conversation takes place on a knife edge, ready to descend into violence or sex at the slightest provocation, and she's been lazy about maintaining her defenses. Having Lucas around is a convenient shield, but his absence this week has left her feeling exposed.

  
Unfortunately, exposed is how House seems to like her best.

  
Cuddy tries the generally unsuccessful tactic of ignoring him, and sure enough before she can open her front door, he's towering over her with a wicked glint in his eye. Unwilling to fight, she resists the urge to slam the door behind her, instead allowing him to follow her into the cozy warmth of her home.

  
As predicted, Marina is already wearing her coat, handing the baby monitor off like an Olympic baton. House makes no comment, though Cuddy turns in time to see him leering over the twenty-something as she walks away. If she didn't know better, if she actually cared, Cuddy might feel a little less special.

  
House follows her impatiently as she divests herself of the trappings of the office, right up until she crosses the threshold of the nursery, a line of demarcation that he established as soon as he realized Rachel wasn't going to be returned like an unfortunate sweater from an elderly aunt.

  
Cuddy hovers over the crib, feeling peace for the first time all day. Rachel's face is smooth and contented, and watching her tiny chest rise and fall restores some of Cuddy's own equilibrium. Sometimes the world can be reduced down to these moments: the oases of calm in the chaos of her life. Though she feels pangs of regret when she's woken at 3am by crying, or when she has to leave that second glass of wine in the bottle because responsibility comes first, Cuddy is quite secure in her belief that she wouldn't trade this for anything.

  
Not even for the fake-coughing, deep-sighing man in the hallway who drives her crazy in ways that are equally frustrating and scintillating.

  
Rachel's undisturbed sleep is paramount, and Cuddy reluctantly takes her leave. Once she gets rid of House, she can return to this little haven and do some paperwork with Rachel's steady breathing as a soundtrack. It's becoming her favorite habit.

  
House rolls his eyes as she reemerges from the nursery, stepping back from her as though parenthood might be some kind of contagious disease. Without her shoes on, Cuddy feels even smaller in his presence, but on her home turf he can't intimidate her.

  
"What do you want, House? I have things to do."

  
"That's no way to talk about your little boyfriend. Where is he, by the way?"

  
She sighs in exasperation, any hopes of a vaguely mature conversation evaporating with the remaining time in her evening.

  
"He's not here. Working, as if you couldn't guess. Now, tell me why you're here so I can say 'no' and send you on your way."

  
The shooing gesture comes naturally by now, part of her ongoing quest to steer him, direct him to anything but the most contentious path through both of their lives. As usual, he is entirely resistant, scratching at his stubble as he considers the most elaborate way to wreck her night.

  
"I asked you a question today, and since you didn’t bother to respond, I’m here to get my answer now.”

  
Leading the way into her kitchen, accepting the fact that he will follow her, Cuddy retrieves her preferred Pinot Grigio from the fridge. She pours a glass without offering him any; he is an uninvited guest after all and thus undeserving of her hospitality. He regards her drink with contempt before helping himself to one of the frosty beer bottles at the back of the fridge, almost iced over from all the time they've spent in there.

  
Lucas doesn’t drink beer, but Cuddy has them in the fridge regardless, and she supposes it’s still for occasions like this one.

  
“Which question? About your patient? Because she’s being discharged.”

  
A baleful look is her reward; House is all too aware of when she’s hedging. She’s out of practice, and for a moment Cuddy yearns for the long weeks of estrangement when House was content to glare at her from across the room.

  
“I asked you if you wanted to make out. And Cuddy, you know how I hate an unsolved mystery.”

  
His expression is deceptively innocent, some residual boyish charm peeking out from under the cynicism and deepening lines of his face. As ever, Cuddy feels torn between the competing options of slapping him or patting him on the head in encouragement.

  
"I didn't answer because no answer was necessary. Even if I weren't in a relationship, I'd have no interest in kissing you. If that's all you needed to hear, you can show yourself out."

  
House watches her as she drains her glass with two hearty gulps. Another day she might have savored the crisp tones and fruity blends, but all that crap she learned on a wine-tasting course years ago did nothing to replace the primary function of her booze: to dull the dangerously sharp edges all around her.

  
He doesn't move.

  
Leaning against her breakfast bar, House continues to watch her in an attempt to provoke some further response from her. She knows the game too well: he wants her to protest too much so that he can lay all the blame for the constant tension on her. Cuddy isn't buying into his sexual Ponzi scheme tonight, she's not the one who feels the need to brush a careless sleeve over someone's breasts, or push a crotch too close to someone else's face.

  
She's in control, at least for now, and that's exactly how she intends to keep it.

  
Her reticence works as she knew it would, and House is the one provoked into action. Grabbing his backpack from the counter, he brandishes it as some sort of ineffectual weapon.

  
"Admit that you want to make out with me, or I won't share the best cinematic material of the millennium."

  
Cuddy considers for a moment, and then pours herself the second glass instead of returning the bottle to the fridge; partly because she doesn't trust herself to pass too close to House right now.

  
"Fine, I wanted to make out with you, but the moment passed. This had better be an improvement on 'The Life and Times of Death Cat'; I'm warning you."

  
She groans at the triumphant jig he shuffle-dances around her kitchen. When he's done gloating over his empty victory, since they both know she was lying through her teeth (and also how much she wasn't), he retrieves a DVD case from the backpack with a theatrical flourish.

  
Cuddy recognizes the cover, a smaller version of the posters that have been cropping up all over her hospital. She'd dismissed them as House discovering the joys of Photoshop, but the prospect of Wilson starring in an honest-to-God porn movie hadn't crossed her mind.

  
"Is that _real_?"

  
The words come out in a sort of splutter, but there's nothing Cuddy can do to contain her surprise.

  
House nods solemnly, as though delivering particularly life-changing news. The flickers of a grin are never far from his lips though, so she's forced to grab the plastic box and confirm for herself.

  
"Do you have a DVD player in your bedroom?"

  
The glare she reserves for that question is among her most spine-chilling; she can gauge its effect by the momentary hitch in House's breathing when she turns it on him. Cuddy motions back towards the living room, where they can watch this kinky little travesty with something approaching propriety.

  
Of course, Cuddy is well aware that she should be refusing to participate in the continuing embarrassment of a respected colleague, but frankly Wilson gave up that protection the minute he agreed to prance around the woods in fake horns.

  
She tries not to check out House's ass as he leads his way enthusiastically towards the television, for once his eagerness outweighs his insistence on making her do everything for him. He hasn't played the cripple card once today, a sure sign that his manipulation skills had been applied in full force elsewhere.

  
Ever the alpha male, House stabs blindly at the buttons on the remote, expecting technology to obey him through sheer force of will. When Cuddy retrieves the little black box from his hands, House takes it as his cue to flop down on the couch, leaving her barely enough room to fit on there beside him.

  
Shoving at his uninjured leg, Cuddy creates a little more space for herself only for House to obliterate it once more by leaning across her to switch off the lamp. The room sinks into sudden darkness until the glow of a copyright warning flickers into life on the screen.

  
As restless as ever, House passes the time removing his jacket and kicking off his sneakers with scant regard for the edges of her coffee table. For a moment, Cuddy feels the pangs of tiredness sweeping over her, and she offers a silent prayer that the film will be as short as it is tacky, thus offering her a chance at the rest that is rightfully hers. Of course, praying over things like porn is probably why she's not considered a terribly observant Jew, but she blames that on House's influence for the moment.

  
It doesn’t take much to start her giggling, and by the time the cheesy dialog really gets going, Cuddy is roaring with laughter. House has obviously seen the best of it already, but she’s aware of him sniggering beside her. After all, some things will never _not_ be funny. A natural prankster herself, she groans as she thinks how much more mileage House is going to get out of this. Inserting video clips into Wilson’s lecture presentations, arranging screenings on campus, not to mention what he could get up to online.

  
For a long moment, she considers confiscating this copy, but the toothpaste is already out of the tube. In no alternative universe would House let her near this without having a stockpile of copies elsewhere, although they had a tentative trust, House still expected her to pull rank and spoil his fun at every turn. He should be grateful too; sometimes only Cuddy's interventions had kept him out of federal prison.

  
The hilarity wears off pretty quickly and Cuddy finds herself rolling her eyes at the production values. She doesn't necessarily believe that women can't be stimulated by porn, but they're certainly more discerning about what constitutes decent material. The 'actresses' look alternately stoned or bored, and the guys have the disaffected professionalism of someone watching the clock and trying to do a passable job.

  
She can see the pretension in it too, the attempt at edgy lighting, quick cuts that leave her dizzy more than stimulated, and after about thirty minutes of partially obscured action, Cuddy is pretty much done.

  
Of course, when she turns to tell House as much, he's completely fixated on the screen. His jaw is slack, and she thinks his breathing might just be a little more rapid than usual. He can't _possibly_ be enjoying this crap, can he? If nothing else, she would have thought it a little vanilla for his often-proclaimed tastes.

  
"House. House!"

  
With considerable reluctance, he flicks his eyes from the unfolding action to her general direction. Having granted her about a second of his attention, House is once again engrossed.

  
"Are you enjoying this?" Cuddy finds herself whispering, blushing lightly at the absurdity of the situation.

  
He doesn't answer right away; apparently it takes time to come up with a reply as witty as "duh".

  
She waves a hand in front of his face, fascinated by his fascination. House bats her hand away, irritation deepening the lines of his face for a second, highlighted by the bright glow from the television.

  
Of course, Cuddy can't help but look down. She finds that House's jacket has taken up a strategic position over his lap and she wants to scream at him for being such a pervert, especially with her child sleeping next door. The admonition loses steam before reaching her tongue though, because what part of 'watch this porn in my house' had been innocent fun, exactly? House might be a royal pain in the ass at the best of times, but she also knew before pressing the play button that _he's a guy_.

  
Right now, she can feel the first twinges of panic at the base of her spine. Her temperature is certainly climbing, and her incredibly comfortable sofa suddenly makes her feel like she's sitting on a bed of nails. She should walk out of the room in disgust, or throw House into the night and let him worry about how he'd ride his bike home in that condition.

  
But damned if she isn't also a little curious.

  
Which is such dangerous terrain for them that even NATO would refuse to send peacekeepers. The potential for damage is so great that they haven't been able to kiss in the past twenty years without painful recriminations and enough nervous tension to power the Eastern seaboard.

  
So of all the things Cuddy should not be doing in this moment, leaning closer to House would certainly be high on the list. She finds herself whispering again; there’s a huskiness in her voice that she hasn't heard in months. With Lucas, she never seems to feel this involved.

  
"What is it you like about this? The oblivious women? Or do you have a secret goat fetish you haven't announced to the hospital yet?"

  
As soon as the last words escape, she wants to bite them back. What used to be a harmless joke between them until last summer is now an awful reminder of what went so very wrong, and she sees him flinch as the unintended blow lands.

  
"House... I didn't mean it that way."

  
He cuts her off by reaching for the remote and pausing the DVD.

  
"Congratulations. I didn't think that you could ruin porn, but it turns out you're better than I thought."

  
Cuddy stumbles over her words, trying to repair the damage as House prepares to leave. Although it might even be for the best, this isn't how she wanted the evening to end.

  
"House... come on. It's not like I accused you of actually doing anything with the goats."

  
It doesn't quite restore the peace, but it's a vital moment of levity and the storm clouds roll back as suddenly as they appeared. Their familiar routine of going too far, a non-apology and a weak joke is saving the day again, only this time their roles are very much reversed.

  
House slumps back down on the cushions, and with one more suspicious glare in her direction, lets the wood-nymphs resume their romp. Cuddy would be offended by further awful acting and uninspired sexual positions that couldn't _possibly_ be effective, if not for her relief at a seeming return to normality.

  
And the jacket is once more in his lap.

  
Cuddy is quite sure she doesn't want to watch any more porn, but her refusal to concede defeat seems to stop her expressing as much. She leans back with a deep sigh and begins to fidget with the edge of her top, pulling it taut between her fingers and plucking at it with no discernible rhythm.

  
Her agitation clearly impacts on House because his hand shoots out and lands on hers, removing the fluttering distraction from his peripheral vision. He doesn't let go; she doesn't pull away.

  
The screen is a blur to her now; the uninteresting flesh of unattractive people has no chance of competing with the shocking warmth of House's skin against her own. Cuddy forces herself to breathe normally, her chest constricting as she wrestles with the inappropriate situation she's created for herself. Risking a glance in House's direction, she notes that his attention doesn't appear to have wavered, though there's a certain tension along his jaw that wasn't there a few minutes before.

  
Cuddy has to fight the urge to spring from the sofa and usher House into the street. He still hasn't let go of her hand, his fingertips brush against her wrist as he continues to hold her still. The simple touch is a more effective restraint that any playful scarf or set of handcuffs could possibly be, and she tries to think of Lucas and the reasons why this has to stop _immediately_ but it's hard to think over the din of her own racing heart.

  
The tedious Euro dance music on the soundtrack is fading from her consciousness as House’s fingers begin to move gently, a whisper of shifting contact against the sensitive skin of her wrist. Inch by maddening inch, his rough fingertips trace along her bare forearm. Cuddy doesn’t turn her head to see if he’s watching her reaction, but she swallows hard and issues frantic ‘do not engage’ messages to her Central Nervous System.

  
Those messages are resolutely ignored, drowned out by the first whispers of arousal that course through her chest. The hitch in her breathing is impossible to disguise this time, but her reward is in the way House squirms slightly next to her, as though the cushions have somehow lost their comfort.

  
_Stop. We can’t. You have to go._

  
They would be such plausible, valid words for Cuddy to say. She does no such thing and even the guilt is starting to fade in the face of how much she wants this. House hasn’t even touched anywhere past her elbow, but she’s already wet in anticipation.

  
When his hand stops, hovering at the half-sleeve of her shirt, Cuddy knows she can’t avoid looking at him any longer. Dipping her head with something like shyness, she turns to face him in the reflecting light of the television. And if she weren’t already turned on, the look of pure lust radiating back at her would have done the trick all by itself.

  
House wants her. He wouldn’t admit it until recently, though she’s always known, putting a little extra sway in her hips when she particularly feels like tormenting him. They’ve come closer and closer in the past few years, crossing one line only to rush back to safety almost right away. Flirting as a contact sport with very little in the way of rules, and they’ve gotten so good at it she almost can’t imagine what could come next.

  
Except that she has imagined it, in idle daydreams and tormented nights when she tosses and turns beneath the sheets. More than once, she’s thought about it when Lucas drags his downy-soft stubble across her skin and as in so many ways with him, she just doesn’t get the friction she was hoping for.

  
Giving permission seems like a ridiculous thing to do, given House’s cavalier attitude to her authority at the best of times, but she allows a simple nod and it turns out to be the only sign he needs.

  
It surprises her when House doesn’t kiss her on the mouth, rather he presses his lips against the sensitized skin of her neck and Cuddy moans softly in approval. He embarks on a trail from her clavicle to that most sensitive spot behind her ear and when the wet heat of his tongue starts to alternate with his lips, Cuddy knows she’s a goner.

  
Unwilling to let House dictate the terms, she draws him into a real kiss, something mutual that makes her feel twenty years younger and far too excited. Kissing him without tears stinging her face is much more enjoyable, and she grabs at his t-shirt as though he might make a break for the door at any moment. His ante-upping response is to start undoing the buttons of her shirt and Cuddy has no resistance that she feels like offering.

  
They fumble a little, this kind of intimacy is as unusual between them as it is slightly terrifying, but it doesn’t take long for Cuddy’s bra-covered breasts to be pressed against House’s naked chest. She’s no longer concerned about stopping, but she won’t let this happen like some tawdry teenage experience in her living room.

  
The panic on his face as she halts their inspired making out gives Cuddy another little thrill, but House complies with her directions without complaint. She pauses in the doorway of her bedroom, the reminders of Lucas are small but suddenly obvious. She can’t bring herself to care, because the bed has clean sheets and House’s erection is already pressing against her from behind. Maybe if she were the kind of person who didn’t screw up perfectly good relationships, Cuddy would feel enough guilt to stay faithful, but there are few principles she hasn’t had to compromise with House in her life. At least selling out here isn’t going to result in anyone dying.

  
She doesn’t pay attention to how they shed their remaining clothes, but between the door and the bed they lose everything. Grasping for some control over the spiraling situation, Cuddy is the one to push House down on to the mattress, more force than is strictly necessary in her hands.

  
To compensate, she is far more gentle when she first touches his erection. He reacts just as she had hoped, with the first little hiss of pleasure that leads to an involuntary jerking of his hips. House is officially hers to do with what she will, and for once Cuddy is thrilled instead of fearing it.

  
Their eyes meet in the soft light of the bedroom, Cuddy kneeling over him with confidence in her body, in his appreciation of it. For all the things he makes her feel on a daily basis: infuriated, frustrated, vengeful and mean, he also makes her feel _beautiful_ in a way she can’t quite live without.

  
House is incapable of remaining passive, his hands wandering across her exposed skin with determination and skill. He finds every sensitive spot to caress, from the sharp lines of her shoulder blades to the ticklish curve of her ass. She wishes she could prolong this unexpected tenderness but there’s a charge in the air between them that has a tang like gunpowder, and they both know that nothing gentle can survive.

  
She guides him inside her, the necessary delay of a condom allowing them to breathe a little easier for a moment, the calm before a now inevitable storm. House makes no move at first, and Cuddy presses her palms against his chest to hold him still. Resistance comes so naturally to him, she can see the urge to rebel playing out on his face, but he obeys her silent instruction.

  
With a careful tilt of her hips, Cuddy takes her opening shot. Letting her eyes flutter closed in concentration, she begins to squeeze rhythmically around his dick and smiles at the moans of pleasure it draws from his lips. Just as she’s beginning to enjoy the power of it, she feels firm hands on her hips and she’s tumbling towards the sheets with House on top of her.

  
It becomes a battle then, his thrusts a perfect counterpoint to her own as the pace increases. They fall into a tempo that she briefly considers might be hell on his leg, but he made his bed and now he’s lying in hers. His mouth runs riot over her breasts, his tongue teasing her nipples in their hardened state and causing her to gasp when his teeth graze the tips.

  
Nothing that intense can last for long, but House is considerate enough to press his thumb against her clit and thrown her into climax before following himself. When he collapses on top of her, spent and panting from exertion, Cuddy doesn’t mind that he’s not supporting himself on his elbows. It feels good to be almost trapped beneath him, it makes this _real_ and not another vivid dream that will leave her waking up frustrated and rubbing frantically in the shower.

  
They arrange themselves more comfortably when they’re capable of moving, and Cuddy lets House wrap an arm around her waist without complaint. She should definitely throw him out now; make those excuses that have all but faded from her mind. Threats and warnings could keep this secret for her, and who would believe him anyway, after everything?

  
That isn’t what she wants, and they both know it without the need for conversation. Lucas has left his watch on the bedside table and she stares at the garish digital display as House’s breath blows warm on the back of her neck. Maybe House will be gone in the morning, or maybe she’ll come to her senses. The quiet crackle from the baby monitor reminds her that Rachel could start crying and shatter the fragile peace, or Lucas could come back early to surprise her.

  
None of which compares to the prospect of House staying, of him being the face across the pillows when she wakes. Their timing has been flawed for so long that this feels owed to her, and the fact that he hasn’t ruined everything with some sarcastic remark just seems like further proof.

  
He sighs, almost as though he can read her thoughts, and Cuddy pulls the sheet up over them. Whatever happens later, tomorrow, whenever, she can deal with. When House pulls her closer to him she lets him, and decides once and for all to enjoy it.

  
The rest will just have to wait.


End file.
